Letters from a Brittania Angel
by snellygirl12
Summary: No one, with the exception of Arthur Kirkland, is able to see the reader anymore. What will she do to say goodbye to her loved ones, most importantly her beloved boyfriend Alfred F. Jones? Write them letters of course. But what does does fate have in store for the reader? England x Reader x America. (Rated T to be safe.)
1. Chapter 1

**Letters from a Britannia Angel**

England x Reader x America

Ach! You were late! You'd forgotten exactly how or when you had fallen asleep, but that was beside the point. The clock blinked 4:53 pm on its digital face, and your date with Alfred was at 5. How in the world were you going to make it to the park across town in seven minutes? At least you were already dressed in your (favorite color) blouse, a pair of dark blue jeans. You quickly threw on some makeup, put up half your hair in a sloppy, but oddly good-looking bun, grabbed your black windbreaker, and scrambled out the front door of your house, and into your parent's car.

As you drove, your feelings of anxiety began to grow. Even though Alfred wasn't the type to get angry about showing up late, it still bothered you when you were. You had been dating Alfred for a while, and known him since childhood, when he began attending your elementary school. His parents moved around a lot for work, so he stayed with his grandfather. It surprised you when your realized how carefree and cheerful he always acted, despite almost never seeing his parents. Lost in thought, you didn't notice the light at the intersection turn red.

CRASH!

The next few moments were hazy. You didn't quite know what had happened, although, you didn't seem to be injured. You stumbled out of your car, unaware of your movements, almost as if your body moved itself. Your dedication to Alfred was almost too great for your own good.

_God, that boy better know I love him._ You thought.

When you finally rose up out of your half-conscious state, you were at the park. Perking up, you scanned your surrounding area for any sight of your boyfriend. And you soon found him in front of the ice cream stand.

_That's so like Alfred. _You thought. _Couldn't wait to get ice cream I suppose. The glutton._

You smiled as you called out to your boyfriend.

"Alfred!" He didn't seem to respond, so you tried again.

"ALFRED!" You screamed, waving. Alfred didn't seem to hear you at all.

_That's fine. Maybe he's just listening to his MP3 player. _

You began running towards him and calling his name, but still. Nothing. No reaction. Was this payback for being late? No. Alfred wouldn't do that to you. Especially not after all the dates he's been late for. He walked over to a large maple tree and stood there eating his ice cream. God, he looked so cute. His blonde hair gently caressing his forehead, and his glasses sitting in front of those gorgeous sky blue orbs made him just so adorable.

"Hey Alfred!" You said, now standing right in front of him.

"_'s never this late, I hope she's okay." Alfred murmured to himself, a hint of apprehension showing through his voice.

"Ha ha, Alfred, very funny. I'm right here. Sorry I'm late; I fell asleep on the couch."

Alfred didn't respond. Instead, he continued shifting his gaze between the park in front of him, and his watch.

"Did she forget our date? This is so unlike her. Maybe I should call." You watched as Alfred took out his cell phone, dialed your number and put the phone up to his ear.

"Alfred. I'm right here, stop this. Alfred. Listen To Me! OKAY, I'M SORRY I'M LATE!" You were nearly shouting at him. You didn't like this game of his one bit. Tears started to build up in your eyes but you quickly wiped them away. "Stupid Alfred, I'm leaving." You stomped away, irritated. You didn't even look back to see Alfred's concerned look when he realized you hadn't answered your cell phone.

_Stupid Alfred. I said I was sorry. He doesn't have to be so mean. This joke of his isn't funny._

When you finally cooled down, and looked around to see where you were standing, you were in front of your best friend Lili's house. You always thought her house was breathtakingly beautiful. Although its layout was simple, and it wasn't the biggest house in the world, it was warm and inviting. Lili and her brother and legal guardian, Basch, took good care of it, too. You could have sworn they spent every weekend improving their home. Basch was always trimming the bushes, mowing the lawn, and painting the house. While Lili enjoyed planting flowers, and growing basically herb on the face of the planet. They seemed to get along really well, and you longed for that kind of relationship with your siblings.

At present, Lili was outside tending to some flowers near the front gate. Alfred's silly game had completely gone over your head at the sight of her, and you decided to say hello.

"Hey Lili! How are you?" You said with a big grin spread across your face. Silence.

"Lili! Oh not you, too! Did Alfred get you in on this?" She didn't respond, almost as if she couldn't tell you were there. You could understand Alfred being upset and childishly pretending you weren't there, but how could your best friend do this to you? You stormed off, anger now building inside of you.

_How did Alfred even get her to play this stupid game?_ You wondered. It just didn't make sense. _Did he call her? Maybe. . . Ugh. I just don't even know. I need to think._

You decided to go to the school and sit by your favorite tree next to the track. Somehow this place always helped you clear your head, and if it was one thing you needed right now, it was to clear your thoughts. On your way, you spotted Ludwig and Feliciano. Poor Feliciano was being forced to run laps around the track. Ludwig was sure hard on him. Looking out for a friend's health is one thing, but you always felt Ludwig went a little overboard when it came to running. You smiled slightly. There was no way someone as serious as Ludwig would play along with one of Alfred's silly games. Plus those two didn't really get along, so why would he?

"LUDWIG! FELICIANO!" You screamed from across the track. They didn't seem to hear you. You were probably just too far away, so you started jogging toward them.

"HEY LUDWIG!" You tried again. He didn't say anything. From ten feet away you were sure he could hear you. So why wasn't he responding?

"Feliciano? . . . Ludwig?" You asked, coming closer, suddenly unsure. Fear swept across your being. No one was paying attention, or they couldn't see you at all. But why? You didn't understand.

Frightened and utterly lost in a sea of confusion, you ran back home. You began to panic, your heart racing. No one could see you, or at least, they were pretending not to see you. But that didn't make any sense. It couldn't be just one of Alfred silly games if Ludwig and Feliciano were playing along. Ludwig was way too serious, and Feliciano—too kind-hearted. Why couldn't people see you then?

About a block away from your house, you noticed Arthur, swaying back and forth, as if debating whether to continue walking or to go back. Arthur was in a few of your high-school classes, but you two weren't really all that close. It's not like you hated each other or anything, you just didn't get the chance to talk much. Although you wondered what he was doing, you pushed your curiosity aside, figuring that he wouldn't be able to see you either. So you just brushed passed him.

"_." He said in his charming British accent, "I'm glad to see you're okay."

You snapped your head around, his words startling you. He could see you? The past hour had just been too much for you to handle. Suddenly no one could see you; your mind was flooded with feelings of hopelessness, confusion, and anxiety. And you needed someone, anyone to cling to. So, you chose Arthur.

You snatched the front of his jacket and pulled him close. Your head buried in his chest, tears now rolling down your cheeks. Your sudden movements shocked him, so he stood there dumbstruck, with a crying girl clinging to his chest. He didn't know what to do, should he wrap his arms around you and comfort you? Or was that crossing a line?

"Arthur! What's going on?! Why are you the only one that can see me?" Arthur wrapped his arms around you tightly. Your fear had finally gotten to you, and you stood in his arms, a trembling, crying mess.

Arthur understood now. It had suddenly clicked in his head, and it all made sense; all the puzzle pieces fit perfectly.

"_. I'm so very sorry." He paused, almost unsure you could handle what he was about to tell you. "You're dead, _."


	2. Chapter 2

**Letters from a Britannia Angel **

England x Reader x America

"W-what?" Your voice waivered as you looked up into his emerald eyes. What Arthur just told you, it couldn't possibly be true. Could it? You couldn't be dead. No. There was no way.

"_. You're not living anymore." Arthur tried again. This was so difficult to say to you. Probably the hardest thing he ever had to say to anyone.

Arthur bit his lip as he stared back at you. He didn't know what to do, so he acted on instinct. In a flash, he grabbed your wrist and tugged it alongside him as he began walking briskly down the sidewalk.

"Follow me." Was all he said to you, and you followed, placing all your faith in him.

You struggled to keep up with him; you weren't used to walking this fast. As you walked, all you could see was the back of his head. You couldn't help but think that his blonde hair looked similar to Alfred's, only lighter and messier. Arthur only once looked back at you, and you sensed a deep sadness in his eyes, followed by a slight blush on his cheeks as he whipped his head back around. He was certainly strange, but not unbearably so.

When Arthur came to a sudden stop, you nearly ran into him, but at the last second you caught yourself and stopped. You peered around him to see you two were standing on the sidewalk near a four-way intersection. Police tape surrounded the area as well as a crowd that had formed, full of people curious to see what had happened. There, in the middle of two intersections, were two cars. One was your parents' red Sedan, and the other, a black Chevrolet Cheyenne. Glass was shattered over of the pavement, and workers were still picking up the shards. The front window of the car you had been driving was missing and the entire driver's side of the car was mashed. But the thing that most surprised you was not the damage done to the car, but the fact that there was still a driver, you.

"_, you died in this car accident earlier today." Arthur started, "When I saw you, I thought, maybe, you didn't sustain any injuries after all. But it looks like you did." He sounded as though he had just returned from a funeral as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes.

"No. No, that's not possible. I came out of this wreck. I stumbled out of that car. I remember it all now." You still didn't want to believe it. It was just too hard on you, after everything you had been through. Now, finding out that your life was literally over was just too much to bear. You started to cry again, leaning on Arthur for support.

"I'm so, so sor—" Arthur tried to say, but you cut him off.

"WAIT. This only explains why other people _can't _see me, but not why you _can_." Your curiosity suddenly got the best of you, and your tears stopped their free-fall.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out, so he closed it then opened it again. It looked as though he was having an internal struggle upon whether he should tell you something. He shifted his gaze from you to the surrounding environment. As he suspected, people were staring.

"Look, I promise I'll explain everything, but just not here. People are staring." He whispered, gesturing toward the sea of people who had gathered around to look at the two of you; or rather, him.

"Okay." You consented softly, suddenly aware of the crowd you had attracted.

This time you took the lead by grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and leading him towards the only place you knew no one would be. You lead him through the crowd of people, and off towards the school building. You were so focused on the destination; you hadn't noticed when his hand slipped down to hold yours. There, behind the school, you located your special tree, and sat alone with Arthur in the shade it provided. There was a long silence before Arthur began speaking.

"Ever since I was a young boy, I could see . . ." he paused, searching for the right word, "things. Things the other children couldn't. My classmates all thought I was weird, and my parents. My parents assumed I just had imaginary friends that would go away eventually, but they didn't."

"What do you mean you can see things? What things?" Your interest was piqued.

"Things like supposedly make believe animals—like unicorns, fairies, elves—but also spirits from folklore, for example, Tengu from old Japanese tales. Things people used to believe in but don't anymore; as well as wandering spirits, or spirits of the dead if you prefer."

Arthur paused again before continuing, "At first, I didn't even realize that I was the only one who could see these spirits. I'll never forget the time I visited my friend Kiku and met two ancient spirits, and a little girl who hadn't yet passed on. Kiku kept insisting that he lived alone when I mentioned the two blokes and the girl to him. I guess I just didn't understand at the time that I was different from everyone else."

When he finished speaking he looked up at you, as if to ask if you understood.

"So, that's why I guess you don't talk about it. You're afraid that people will think you're out of your mind."

"Who wouldn't?"

You looked up at him sincerely, "I don't think you're crazy."

"_, that would mean so much more to me if you were still alive." He looked up into the atmosphere, saddened.

"Oh, yeah. . . Sorry."

"It's no problem; I just . . . wish people were more willing to believe in what they can't always see." Arthur's voice faltered as he choked out the last piece of his thought.

You cracked a smile and prodded his arm with your elbow. "Yeah, we're a stubborn bunch, aren't we?"

"Yes, yes you are; more stubborn than an Englishman." He retorted, now enjoying your company. His face lifted, a slight smile spread across it. "And that's saying something, coming from an Englishman."

That's right. You had nearly forgotten; his family moved here from England about two years ago. Had it really been that long already? You'd known him for two years, and this is the most you had ever spoken. What a shame that was. He seemed like a nice guy and a total gentleman.

"Why yes, sir, I do believe it is." You said, in your best pseudo-British accent.

"God, I love it when you Americans attempt a British accent." He smiled, "They are always so bad, and it's laughable really."

"Hey! British accents are not easy. You try one." You paused, instantly realizing your stupidity. When Arthur burst out laughing, you joined him.

"Why, I think I will! I might have to practice for a long while though, not sure I could get it right out of the box." He said, now poking fun at you.

You could feel the mood lighten around you. Arthur was actually pretty kind-hearted and funny. Not to mention the slightest bit sarcastic. Maybe you're after life wasn't so bad.

_I mean, I can still talk to Arthur, right? And I can always watch over people. And. . . . I can visit Alfred. . . Alfred. There is so much I still want to say to him. . . _

"I'll never speak to him again." Your voice was nearly inaudible as you spoke to yourself.

"Hmm?" Arthur wondered, turning his head slightly so it faced you.

"Oh. I was just . . . thinking about Alfred."

It stung; the realization that your beloved boyfriend would never see you again. Sure, you would be able to see him; after all, ghosts are observing beings. Watching over the living, always there, but never seen, always talked about, but never heard. But what did it matter? You could pour your heart and soul out to him, but he would never respond. How could he? He didn't even know you were there.

_If only there was a way for him to know . . . know what he meant to me. I don't even need a reply. Just. Closure._

Your mind led you to different planes of existence as you searched for the answer to your unbelievable problem.

_Huh. I think I got it!_

"Arthur! If I wrote letters to Alfred, do you think you could give them to him?" Without even thinking, the words instantly flew out of your mouth.

Arthur thought the idea over for a few minutes, probably working out the logistics rather than debating whether to help you.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't be too much trouble. But—"

"OH Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" You cried cheerfully as you threw your arms around him. You were overcome with joy.

His face reddened at your touch and he turned away, trying his best to hide the blush that crept up on his cheeks, hoping you wouldn't notice. At the same time though, he realized the possible complications caused by your plan. Alfred probably wouldn't believe you wrote them, and the other classmates would probably think he was giving Alfred love notes. Arthur's face flushed an even brighter red at the thought of the embarrassment he would suffer.

_That stupid git, Alfred. Why does _ even like him? _His thoughts rambled about Alfred's apparent stupidity for a few minutes before steering his train of thought back to you.

He felt plain horrible. You were two years younger than him, and your life had already come to an end. You were alone. He certainly knew that feeling if nothing else. People always thought he was delusional, so they tended to steer clear of him. He sympathized with you, and had a strong desire to protect you, and be there when you needed him. He wanted to do something for you, to make your situation even just a little better.

_Even if it means talking to that wanker, Alfred. _He assured himself.

He flashed you a genuine smile, then began standing up. You hadn't noticed how late it had gotten. The sun was already setting and hues of pink and orange danced across the sky.

"It's beautiful." You said, now standing next to Arthur.

"It is, isn't it?" He paused to take in the outstanding view. "Come on, let's get you home."

"But Arthur. . ." Your eyes filled with sorrow once again, and you started choking on your words, "My parents . . . they won't be able to see me. Plus, won't it look strange if you just walk up to my house and then leave? And what if my parents see you?"

He mentally smacked himself for bringing back your sadness. You had been through enough; he didn't want to hurt you anymore.

"Well. . . I guess you could stay at my flat." He couldn't think of anywhere else.

Even though it probably wasn't the best idea; who knows what he had lying around there. He ran over all the items in his mind. He didn't _think_ anything was out of place, but he wasn't sure.

"O-okay." You stuttered, somewhat unsure.

"Right away, then. Follow me."

This time, he walked much slower and more relaxed, you didn't have much trouble keeping up with him. This walk was just as silent as before, but this silence was different. It was a somewhat brighter and more welcoming quiet than before. You felt at ease walking beside Arthur.

You'd been walking for a short time when Arthur stopped and turned toward an apartment complex. He opened the front door and allowed you in first, just like a true gentleman would. You walked up a flight of steps to the second floor. On that floor, Arthur unlocked the door to room number 221b. You giggled. 221b Baker Street, the address of Sherlock Holmes.

"What are you laughing about?" Arthur asked with a smile spread across his face.

"You're a Sherlock fan?" You loved Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was brilliant writer. And you thought the show on BBC was fantastic as well.

"Are you a fan yourself?" He replied in question.

"Yeah, huge fan, but I didn't think you were the mystery novel type."

"Well, you learn something new every day. That's the adventure."

He invited you inside his apartment and served you some tea. You didn't quite understand how you could drink it, considering you weren't living any more, but it didn't really make a difference. You were just happy to have somewhere to stay and someone you could talk too. It was almost as if you were still alive.

_Tea served by a real Englishman._ You giggled. _What a fantastic experience._

So, the day started winding down somewhat peacefully after all. You'd been through a lot, and your long day was starting to get to you. You began to feel drowsy and you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Arthur led you to what you supposed was a guest bedroom, and brought you a pair of his pajamas.

"Sorry I don't have anything better for you." He apologized, "I'm not used to having guests."

"It's okay. Thank you . . . for everything." You replied.

"You're welcome, _. I'm happy to help you."

You two stood there awkwardly for a couple seconds until Arthur left the room and went off to bed.

You still didn't quite understand how or why you could interact with material objects. Didn't that defy everything you knew about ghost-hood? Well, all your knowledge had come from Hollywood movies, which probably weren't the best source of information. But still.

You yawned. You were really getting tired.

_I guess those questions will have to wait for another day. _You thought as you drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Letters from a Britannia Angel**

England x Reader x America

Falling. That was the word to describe what you were doing. You were falling; into a bottomless pit, with no one there to catch you. You couldn't see anything anymore. It was just darkness. You were surrounded by a void and the only reason you knew you were falling was because you remembered being pushed. Tears slipped from your eyes and flew upward.

_My hero, Alfred, where are you? _

Alfred had always promised to be there for you, so why wasn't he here now? Just as you hit the bottom . . .

Your body jerked upward and your eyes snapped open. You breathed in and out heavily, recovering from your panic attack. You rubbed your eyes and discovered they were wet; you really were crying. You peered around the room you were in.

_Oh. I'm at Arthur's apartment. _You sighed. _So it was just a dream. _

The sun had just begun to peak through the window panes, and the room was dimly lit. Since there was no way you would be able to get back to sleep, you decided to look around. You threw back the maroon, satin covers and stepped out of the queen sized bed. Next to you, there was a huge bookshelf. Upon closer inspection, you realized that it was filled with English literature of all kinds. You noticed many works of Shakespeare, as well as some books by Charles Dickens, Jane Austin, Douglas Adams, J. R. R. Tolkien, and of course, J. K. Rowling.

Next to that bookshelf was another one; however, this bookshelf contained very few books. This bookcase was filled with model ships, and the few books that were on that shelf, you noticed, were about pirates.

_So he's into pirates and English authors. _You were fairly certain you had enough evidence to make this assumption.

The rest of the room seemed to be filled with personal items and clothing, so you decided to respect Arthur's privacy and not go through those. Stepping out into the living room you noticed something, or rather, someone. Arthur was fast asleep on the couch, with nothing but a blanket to cover him. You glanced back at the room you had just stepped out of.

_He let me sleep in his room, and he slept on the couch. That's so sweet. I feel bad. If I had known he was going to sleep out here, I wouldn't have taken the bed. _

You couldn't help but think that he looked cute while sleeping. His hair fell in his face, and his expression was one that you hadn't yet seen.

_What am I thinking? _You caught yourself._ I'm dating Alfred, and I love him, with all my heart. I shouldn't be finding other guys cute._

It was true. You did love him, with every ounce of your being; which is why you never wanted to be late for any dates. The slightest part of you always hoped that, maybe, if you were on time for that specific date, Alfred would propose. It was silly to think like that, but you couldn't help yourself.

Arthur began to stir and you sharply inhaled and held your breath, in hopes that you wouldn't wake him. Unfortunately, it didn't work. Arthur sat up, yawned, and then began rubbing his eyes. He shifted his attention to you.

"Good morning, _. You're certainly up early." Arthur said, suppressing another yawn, "Would you care for some breakfast?"

You nodded, "Yes, please."

Arthur hauled himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen. You followed him. You had always liked to watch people cook. Arthur started searching through the fridge to find some breakfast foods. When he turned back around, his arms were full of a milk carton, a container of eggs, two packs of sausage, a stick of butter, and some substance in a small, corked bottle that was completely unidentifiable. He then searched around the kitchen for a frying pan. When he finally found one, he placed it on the stove top and turned the heat all the way up. You began to get slightly worried when he didn't butter the pan, and even more so when he cracked four eggs into it, then put the butter on top.

"Are you sure you know how to cook?" Your voice was slightly higher than normal as you swirled your finger while pointing at the pan.

Arthur looked at you seriously for a minute before pasting a smile across his face, "Of course I do. British cuisine is the finest in the world."

He looked serious, but that must have been sarcasm, right? You waited a moment for him to retract that statement, but he never did.

_O-oh dear Lord. _

You decided it was probably best not to watch him cook and went back to the living room to watch TV. You sat on the couch where Arthur had been sleeping and flicked through the TV channels. You'd probably been around the channels at least 3 times looking for something to watch, but nothing caught your eye. So, you decided to turn off the TV and check on Arthur in the kitchen.

_Who knows what the hell is going on in there? I really hope he at least somewhat knows what he's doing. _

When you reentered the kitchen, nothing _seemed_ to have gone too bad. Except for the fact that somehow Arthur had managed to burn the sausage, turn the eggs brown, and transform the toast into charcoal. None the less, you walked into the kitchen with a bright smile on your face.

"So, how's it going Arthur?" You asked, trying to sound innocent and naïve, as if you didn't know he'd totally screwed up.

"Jolly good. I was just about to call you for breakfast."

You tried your best to keep your eyes from widening. _Oh, he thinks this is edible?_

You walked over to your plate at the counter and just stood there for a moment, glancing from your plate, to Arthur, and back again.

You finally shook yourself out of the shock and opened your mouth to say something, "Arthur?"

"Yes, _?" He looked back at you.

"I'm going to tell you something, and I don't want you to be offended or take it personally or anything. Okay?"

He nodded, a look of confusion plastered upon his face.

You pointed to your plate and looked at him, "This isn't edible."

"What are you talking about? This is the finest cuisine Brittan has to offer!" He laughed nervously.

"Oh dear. Arthur. . . THE ORANGE JUICE IS GREEN! How? How does- How does that even _happen_?" You motioned towards the orange juice and nearly burst into hysteric laughter.

"It happens because I'm a bloody amazing cook, that's how." He was seriously trying to defend his horrible cooking. You were awestruck.

"Please tell me you're kidding." Your eyes narrowed and your mouth fell open.

"I most certainly am not." He was serious. He really believed he could cook.

You laid a hand on Arthur shoulder and looked him dead in the eyes, "Someone was always going to have to tell you this someday. . . Arthur, you are a horrible cook."

He started laughing, "Ahahaha. Good one, _. Right. Now take it back."

You continued seriously, "You're in denial."

He looked like you had just dropped a two ton weight on his shoulders, "My food tastes fine." He mumbled.

"Okay then, we're having instant oatmeal. Where's the pantry?" You were done arguing with Arthur. It was ridiculous to try to convince him that his food sucked.

He pointed you in the direction of the pantry and let you make the oatmeal. As you were getting the spoons from the drawer, you noticed out of the corner of your eye, Arthur pouring something from a small bottle into one of the bowls.

"What is that?" You looked at him sternly.

He whipped the bottle behind his back and looked at you with wide eyes, "Absolutely nothing."

"Arthur, what's that behind your back?" You demanded again, now crossing your arms.

"Oh, fine. It's spirit water." He pulled the bottle out from behind his back and placed it in your palm for you to inspect.

You lifted the small glass bottle up to the ceiling lights to get a look at the contents. "And what exactly is spirit water?"

"It has special properties that turn food from the human world into food that spirits can eat or drink."

"Oh. Okay then. So that explains it." You handed the bottle back to him, trusting that he wouldn't lie to you and inside that bottle really was spirit water.

"Explains what?" He asked, curiously.

"Oh, I was just wondering how I could eat and drink things now, being a ghost and all." You felt kind of depressed. This is the first time since you entered Arthur's apartment that you remembered you weren't alive anymore. You'd been having fun, so you hadn't really thought about it.

Arthur was silent. He wasn't very good with comforting people since he spent a lot of his time alone.

"But wait," You were sad, but your curiosity got the better of you, "How can I interact with objects then?"

"I couldn't tell you. But who cares? I've got someone I want you to meet." Arthur smiled as he thought of a way to cheer you up.

He grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the living room to some random room. As you walked in, you saw what looked to be a closet to the left of you, and a giant circular carpet in the middle of the room. The room didn't have any windows, but instead was well lit by the ceiling lights.

Arthur turned to you, "Wait here." He then scampered off into the large closet to go look for something.

After he left, you grew increasingly curious about the circular rug. It looked out of place with the rest of the room, almost like it was covering something up. You walked over to the carpet and flipped the edge of it up.

_I was right. It is covering something up._ _This looks like piece of symbol of some sort. I can't read the writing on the outside though._

You then moved the entire carpet. Underneath was a huge symbol. It looked kind of like a circle with a star in the center, and some inscription that you couldn't read around the outside.

"Hey, _, I have someone who wants to me—" Arthur stopped his singing as you turned around to face him with bulging eyes.

"Arthur. What is that?" You stood there shocked as you looked at your British friend, who was holding what looked to be a green rabbit with wings.

"This is Flying Mint Bunny!" His face brightened, "She's one of the spirit friends I mentioned I had." He held Flying Mint Bunny out in a failed attempt to distract you.

"No. THAT!" You pointed at the symbol engraved into the floor with a serious and confused expression on your face.

"That. Oh that, yes. Umm . . . Would you believe me if I said it was floor decoration?" He asked quizzically, rocking back and forth on his heels.

You looked at him, even more serious than before, "No, I wouldn't."

"Well then. . . It's a bla…." You couldn't quite hear him because he started mumbling towards the end of his sentence.

"It's a what?" You felt like you were a parent questioning a lying child.

"It's a black magic circle." He finally confessed, shifting his gaze to every part of the room except you.

You stood there speechless for a moment. You couldn't believe it, but you decided to just let it go. Arthur was probably one of the craziest people you knew, but he could see you. And that's all that really mattered.

You sighed, "So you're into English literature, black magic, and pirates? Is that it? Is there anything else that I'm going to be surprised to find out about you?"

"No. Not that I know of. Wait a tick. How did you know I have an interest in pirates?"

You blushed; you had _kind of_ been snooping through his room. "I um . . . your room. It had a bookcase full of model ships and pirate books."

Arthur returned your blush and dug his hands into his pockets, "Oh-oh yes. That's right, isn't it?" He smiled at you, "My mum always used to say that I was a pirate in a past life or something."

You giggled. "I'm really glad you can see me Arthur. It makes me really happy to know that I'm not alone, and . . . and. . . ." You were chocking on your words and you were on the brink of tears. Despite all the distractions, this was really just too much for you to handle.

Arthur stood in front of you, and for the first time you noticed just how tall he was. He was just about Alfred's height. Arthur acted totally on instinct as he wiped away your tears and pulled you into a warm embrace.

"Don't cry, love," Arthur bit his lip as he rested his head on yours, "I don't know if I could take it anymore. Just be happy that your still here, and have people that love you, like Alfred. He wouldn't want you to be this sad."

It hurt Arthur to bring up Alfred in conversation, but it was the only way he could think to stop your crying. He couldn't stand to see any woman cry, especially if that woman was you.

"Thank you, Arthur." You said, wiping your tears and pulling away from his hug. You felt light a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

Arthur was about to reply when you caught a glimpse of a flying mint-colored bunny behind him.

"Oh my GOSH! It's just the most adorable thing ever!" You said, grabbing hold of the rabbit and tickling it.

Arthur just laughed, "Yes. As I tried to say earlier, that's Flying Mint Bunny. She's one of my spirit friends."

"She's adorable!" You couldn't take your eyes off of this rabbit. It was just so darn cute.

"I'm glad you like her; even happier that you can see her. I was beginning to think I was going crazy." Arthur laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're not crazy, Arthur. Never have, and hopefully never will be." You smiled up at him, flying mint bunny cuddled in your arms.

The two of you laughed for a while before deciding to watch some TV. You both settled on a Doctor Who marathon, because apparently Arthur owned the first four seasons. Arthur offered to make the popcorn, and you let him after skeptically questioning him on whether he could handle using the microwave. So, the two of you spent the rest of the morning and afternoon on the couch, completely absorbed by the adventures of the Doctor and his companions.

When dinner time rolled around, you forced Arthur to go get some Chinese food from the place up the street. While he was out, you set the table, which took longer than it should have, because you didn't know where anything was. When Arthur returned, the two of you ate a proper meal. Afterwards, Arthur showed you around the rest of his apartment, which wasn't nearly as exciting as the rooms you had seen this morning.

Time seemed to fly and the clocks soon flashed 9:02 pm. You had begged Arthur to let you sleep on the couch tonight, but he wouldn't hear anything of it.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the couch?" He had said.

You could tell that was one argument you weren't going to win, so you just accepted it. Arthur lent you another pair of his clothes to sleep in; this time it was a white V-neck shirt and a pair of Union Jack boxers. You giggled; you were holding Arthur's boxers.

Heat rose to his cheeks as he tried to evade your eyes, "I-it's all I can think to give you. It's the start of summer anyways, so we'll go shopping for you tomorrow."

_That's right. School ended a couple days ago. Alfred and I were meeting at the park to hang out in the nice weather. _

You brushed those thoughts out of your mind and nodded, "Okay. That sounds fun."

Arthur nodded back and left. You decided it was a good time to write your letter to Alfred, since you probably wouldn't have time tomorrow. You grabbed some lined notebook paper and pencils from Arthur's desk, and began to bleed your heart out onto that sheet of paper.


	4. Chapter 4

**Letters from a Britannia Angel **

England x Reader x America

You stood in front of Arthur on the couch, anxious for him to wake up. This morning you had gotten up early in hopes to surprise him with breakfast. You'd spent the early morning in the kitchen, making cinnamon waffles for you and Arthur to share. You were so grateful for all he'd done for you, and you wanted to thank him. The first thing that came to mind, for some reason, was cinnamon waffles. Unfortunately, you had no idea where Arthur put the spirit water, so you couldn't eat anything yet. He looked so peaceful; you didn't want to wake him up. So you waited, growing more and more impatient; you _wanted_ your waffles.

Arthur finally began to stir after about ten minutes of you staring at him. He sat up and stretched his arms and yawned, his eyes still closed. He finally opened his eyes to see you, sitting on the floor near the couch wearing his white V-neck and boxers.

He rubbed his eyes, "_, why are you up so early? It's only . . ." Arthur picked up the clock on the end table closest to him, "Eight-thirty."

"Oh, well I wanted to make you some waffles; you know, to thank you and everything." You blushed slightly as you tried to explain your actions.

Arthur didn't seem to notice, "Oh. Well, shall we eat then?" He walked over to the small dining room table and pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat across the table.

Arthur had taken a few bites of his waffle before looking up. You were sitting there with your hands in your lap, staring down at your waffles. He swallowed, "Something wrong?"

"Oh. No, um. . . I didn't know where you put the spirit water, so I—" You stumbled through your sentence.

Arthur stood up quickly, "My apologies, it slipped my mind. I'll go get it."

He turned around and headed toward the kitchen. He searched the cupboards for about a minute before returning to the table. Now holding a small corked bottle, he sat down. Reaching across the table, he popped open the corked bottle and sprinkled a few drops over your waffle and in your milk.

"There." He gave you a satisfactory smile, "And by the way, this waffle is delicious."

You smiled, "Thanks, Arthur. I'm glad you like it."

The two of you continued some small talk over breakfast. After eating and cleaning up the dishes, the two of you changed out of your pajamas and into your clothes. You put back on your (favorite color) blouse, jeans, and black windbreaker. Arthur had somehow managed to wash them for you. It didn't make much sense, considering they weren't really material anymore, but you decided to just accept things the way they were and not try to understand the physics behind these small miracles anymore. You weren't going to wrap your head around the concept of ghostly laws and what not anytime soon. The clothes had brought back some painful memories, but you did your best to brush them out of your mind. You weren't going to let the past ruin your day at the mall with Arthur. Around ten, you and Arthur were ready to leave the apartment.

"WAIT." You stopped halfway out the door. Retracing your steps back inside, you shut the door and looked at Arthur. "So, people can't see me, but what if they can still see the clothes I'm wearing. Wouldn't they get freaked out if they saw some floating clothes?"

Arthur stared at you; the thought clearly hadn't crossed his mind. He furrowed his brow, racking his brain for a solution to the problem. Arthur's eyes widened as he laid a fist on his open palm.

"Let's test that theory out, shall we?" Arthur left the room. When he returned, he was holding a large gray t-shirt and an apple. "Come on." He held the door open for you, and then walked through it himself.

You and Arthur stood facing each other in the hallway outside 221b. Arthur turned to face you as he handed off the t-shirt.

"Put that on, and hold this." He said, placing the apple in your hands and wrapped your fingers around it. "And stand here." He gently grabbed your shoulders and placed you in front of the door. After knocking on the door, he retreated around the corner, out of view.

"But what is this—" You'd started to argue when a woman—who you guessed was about 34 or 35 years old—answered the door.

Your body tensed. What was the point in all this? Standing in a doorway wearing a t-shirt and holding an apple was ridiculous.

With a confused look on her face, the woman looked around the hallway, first to the left, then the right, up and, finally, down. Her eyes narrowed as she closed the door and went back into her apartment.

Arthur stepped out from around the corner. He unraveled the apple from your grasp and helped you with the t-shirt. After tossing the both t-shirt and the apple back inside his apartment, he turned to you smiling brightly. You suddenly understood what the point of that exercise was; if the woman could see either the apple or the t-shirt, clothes shopping would be totally pointless, because you wouldn't be able to wear any of it outside.

"Ready to go?" He tilted his head slightly.

"Arthur, honestly, sometimes you're just so strange." You giggled. "Let's go."

You'd expected Arthur would own a car or a motorcycle or some form of transportation. So when you questioned him, you were quite surprised to discover that he chose not to own one. He had the money to buy a car, but preferred walking everywhere instead.

"People just miss the world around them because they're traveling too fast. If everyone just slowed down once in a while, they'd see how beautiful the Earth actually is." Arthur had said during your walk to the mall.

He'd given you a lot to think about, so you stayed quiet during most of the walk. Your mind wandered through the events of your life. You realized you were always so focused on what was directly in front of you. So narrow minded, that you never really appreciated what it meant to be alive. Maybe, if you weren't so focused on your own life, you could have made at least a small difference in the world.

_But aren't all teenagers just as narrow minded as me? I mean, I always felt I would live forever. I guess in a way, maybe I will. But Arthur. He's so . . . different from everyone else. He pays attention to his life, sure, but. It's like he just takes a step back every once in a while, and appreciates all he was given. If only more people were like Arthur . . . the world would be a better place. _

Your thoughts had strayed to many places; you were lost at sea inside your head. Arthur waved a hand in front of your face. Instantly, you snapped out of thought and looked at him quizzically.

"_, is something wrong? We're here by the way." Arthur looked slightly concerned. You were just spacing out so it was probably a good thing you had someone watching out for you.

You shook your head, "No. Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking; that's all." You started walking into one of the nearby shops in the outdoor mall, Arthur following closely behind.

The first store you went to, you knew, was a small, family-owned boutique. The daughter had dreams of becoming a fashion designer, and she possessed a real talent. Her designs were elegant yet casual, and she often used vivid colors and designs. Each piece in the shop was a one of a kind and absolutely breath-taking. You started browsing the clothing, Arthur standing close behind watching you with his hands in his pockets.

It bothered you that Arthur was just standing there, so you spoke up. "Arthur. You have to, at least, look like you're shopping, or people are going to give you some real strange looks."

A slight blush rose to his cheeks as he nodded. "Oh, oh right." He mumbled quietly. He then began looking through the circular rack full of shirts, glancing up at you every so often.

You'd been looking through the racks of clothing before a sales assistant, or rather, the mother walked up to Arthur. You stopped going through clothing and looked up at the two of them. Only then did you realize, she must have thought it strange a young man like Arthur was looking through the women's section. You mentally face-palmed yourself for not realizing sooner, and walked over to the two of them, having set down the few shirts you'd picked out.

"Is there anything you need help with, young man?" The woman asked.

Arthur must have also realized how weird it must have looked for him to be browsing the women's shirts because a red blush painted itself across his cheeks and he looked to the side. "N-no. I'm just . . ." Arthur didn't know how to explain what he was doing in truth, so he just said the first thing that came to mind, "looking for a present for my girlfriend." He finished. His blush grew darker, having realized the words that came out of his mouth.

"Aww, well isn't that sweet." The woman seemed to melt in response. "Well, I'll leave you to look." With that, she turned her back to Arthur and walked away.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked back at Arthur. "Arthur . . . did you mean anything by 'your girlfriend'?"

"O-of course not. I just made something up, and that was the first thing that I could think of." Arthur kept his voice low so the other costumers wouldn't think he was crazy.

You nodded, your blush dying down, and you went back to get the clothes you had put on the rack. You had picked out an amber colored, sleeveless laced tank top, a turquoise three quarter sleeve blouse, and a Dolman-sleeved metallic knit shirt among other tops, a ruffled skirt and two pairs of light wash jean shorts that came to about your mid-thigh.

You hung them on a rack in front of Arthur, "Th-these ones." You didn't want to look at him, still not fully recovered from the incident with the sales assistant a few moments ago.

Arthur picked up the clothes and headed to the cashier silently. It was only then that you realized Arthur was the one paying for all those clothes. You wished you hadn't picked out nearly as much, but Arthur didn't seem fazed by it. He thankfully wasn't hassled about all the women's clothes he was buying, and the two of you left the store, Arthur now holding a large paper shopping bag.

The two of you went to a few other stores, now looking for another pair of shoes. You'd finally picked out a pair of silver, sequined flats with a silver ribbon, and a pair of black, open bar sandals. As you exited the store, Arthur was carrying two shopping bags, and you felt bad he wouldn't let you carry anything.

You shook your head, trying to let it go. _Maybe it's just a male pride thing . . . _

The two of you were headed home when you spotted Lili across the street, looking into the windows of other shops. Her brother, Basch, was with her. He was holding a few shopping bags himself, which you assumed were clothes for Lili. He loved his sister dearly. They'd been through a lot together, and he probably wanted to spoil her, even just a little. Without a second thought, you ran up to Lili.

_I know she can't see me, but I still want to say goodbye. I never got the chance to. _You thought.

Lily and Basch stopped and looked in the windows of a few stores. Words began pouring out of your mouth and you couldn't stop them. "Lili, I know you can't hear me, but I love you. You're a great friend, and I hope you live a long, wonderful life. I hope you marry the man of your dreams and never have to go through any more suffering." You paused, wiping tears from your eyes, "And I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I'm so, so sorry, and I'll miss you so much. Good bye." Now, tears were rolling down your face like there was no tomorrow. You squeezed Lili tightly then walked slowly back to Arthur, not daring to look back.

Lili stopped her walking and shivered.

"What's wrong? Are you cold or sick or . . . ?" Basch really did care for his sister; after all, she was all he had left.

"No, brother, I'm fine. Just a cold breeze, that's all." Lili assured her brother. She didn't want to make him worry about her. He has so many other things to worry about, he didn't need anything else.

You and Arthur had walked halfway to his apartment before he spoke, "What happened before? Between you and Lili. If you don't mind my asking that is." He asked, curiously.

"O-oh. I guess it's all right if you know now. It was a long time ago." You paused, trying hard not to break down in tears. "Lili and Basch have been through a lot of suffering, especially Lili." You tuned your head away from Arthur, "She lost her parents in a fire when she was eight or nine. She managed to escape unscathed, but she had no remaining relatives to take care of her. So, she was sent to an orphanage, where she was treated horribly. They . . . they did horrible things to all the children there, and one day, Lili couldn't take it anymore. So she ran away."

Arthur stared back at you intently, waiting for you to finish.

"She managed to survive on the streets for a while, but she was always hungry, always in pain, and she always blamed herself for the death of her parents. Just when she was about to give up on life, Basch found her in the muddied streets."

It really hurt you to even talk about this. Lili was always so sweet and cheerful; you could have never imagined that hidden behind her smiling face and bright eyes was a past of so much pain and suffering. "And so, he took her in, and things seemed to be looking up. He fed her three meals a day, gave her some new clothes, and was so kind to her. But. . . Basch wasn't wealthy enough to support two people. So every meal that Lili got was one he didn't. And she never knew, either because of his pride, or because he didn't want to worry her."

Arthur who had stayed quiet for all this time finally spoke up, "but, why? If he couldn't afford it, why did he help her?"

"He always thought that it was just something that people should do for one another. He felt that everyone should help each other. So, when he saw Lili, dirtied, injured, and starving in the streets, he couldn't just walk past. He had to stop."

Arthur nodded, somewhat sorry he had asked. This was clearly hard for you, and he was only making it more difficult.

"So, eventually, Basch got a higher paying job part-time job, and things were all right for the two of them. They owned a nice house; it was small, but they worked hard to keep it beautiful. Lili attended school because her brother insisted that she would. He didn't want her working; he wanted a bright future for her. That's about the time I had met them. . . But I never knew what they had gone through, at least not until recently." You paused again, struggling to control your tears, "A few years ago, Basch was diagnosed with Leukemia. He managed to get treatment, but it was at a huge cost to both of them. Lili almost never showed up at school, and I wondered why. I didn't know. . . I didn't know she'd been working to earn the money to support them while Basch couldn't."

You couldn't hold back your tears anymore, and they began streaking down your face, "I was her best friend, and she never told me. I never knew. I feel so guilty that I didn't do anything. If I had only known, maybe I could have helped. But . . . but. . ." You trailed off not knowing what to say anymore.

"Anyways, Basch has been three years free of cancer, and he's working a full-time job now. And they're doing good . . . but it's so unfair what happened to them."

You and Arthur had made it back to his apartment and were standing in the empty hallway now. "Why do good people have to suffer? What did they ever do? What did sweet Lili do? She didn't deserve all that pain, and I can't help but think how strong she is. She's been through so much suffering, but she still manages a smile on her face." You said through your tears.

Arthur dropped the shopping bags and wrapped his arms around you. "Sometimes, things just happen. The universe just throws them a punch, and all you can do is trust that God is watching out for all of us." Arthur tried his best to comfort you. "And you did nothing wrong, _, don't think for a second that it's your fault. You didn't know, and no one blames you. "

You wiped your tears and looked up into his emerald eyes. "Thank you Arthur. You always seem to know just what to say." Your eyes trailed downward, and for the first time, you noticed the cross on the chain hooked around Arthur's neck. Immediately, you got side-tracked. "Arthur, I didn't know you were Christian."

He took a step back from you and began opening the door to apartment 221b. "With the things I've seen, I'd be a fool not to believe that there's a heaven and someone watching over us."


	5. Chapter 5

**Letters from a Britannia Angel **

England x Reader x America

Part 5

You breathed heavily as you paced the length of Arthur's room. Today was the day. You were going to give the letter you had written to Alfred. You gripped the sides of the envelope in your hands. All you had to do was give this envelope to Arthur, and you two would head to Alfred's house. So why was this so difficult?

_What if Alfred doesn't believe that I actually wrote this? What if he's moved onto someone else? It has been a few weeks since . . . No. We dated for two years. He wouldn't have moved on that quickly, and he will accept the letter. _You reassured yourself.

You had already made sure to write the letter as though it was written in the past, before your death. You made it seem as though you had written many letters to Alfred, and they had just happened to come into Arthur's possession. That was the plan that you and Arthur agreed upon, after all. It would work. It would.

After showering, you put on your new amber tank top and jean shorts, and headed out to the living room, where Arthur was standing, fully dressed, waiting for you. For the first time since you—could you call it—moved in, you noticed what Arthur was wearing. He was standing there in a Union Jack T-shirt, skinny jeans, and a pair of red converse; the cross still hung around his neck. You couldn't help but think that he was pretty good-looking, at least in that outfit. You slipped on your sandals and headed out the door without another word.

Arthur wasn't very chatty on the walk to Alfred's place. You tried several times to strike up a conversation, but they never lasted very long. Arthur stared off into the distance; he seemed lost in thought.

_I wonder what's wrong. Arthur's not usually like this. _You were somewhat worried, but you just assumed Arthur just wasn't in the mood to talk.

You turned your attention back to what was in front of you; you had to focus on the route to Alfred's house, or you were definitely going to get lost. You knew the way to his house like the back of your hand, but if you weren't paying attention, you were sure you'd get lost. The walk was totally silent except for the sounds of the world around you two. The birds were singing, the wind was whistling quietly through the trees, and you could hear the sounds of people in the distance. They were probably at the park, enjoying the early summer weather.

You two finally arrived at Alfred's house, and you looked up at it. You always felt his house was huge, but when compared with the surrounding houses, it was tiny. Alfred's grandfather lived in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town, and you had always wondered what he used to do. Alfred didn't seem comfortable talking about it, so you never pushed the issue, but your curiosity never disappeared. Because of his parents' constant work, Alfred stayed here more often than not, so you felt you had a good chance of finding him here.

You handed your letter to Arthur as he knocked on the door. He let out the breath he was holding in as he closed his eyes. He didn't really seem to be enjoying his time here. This must have been awkward for him, and you regretting having pushed this on him.

Alfred answered the door a minute later. He looked like a total wreck that had tried to quickly pull himself together just to answer the door. His eyes were red and puffy; he'd been crying. His hair looked un-brushed, and he seemed like he hasn't slept in days.

"Oh Alfred." You nearly burst into tears as you whispered, "I'm so sorry if I did this to you."

Alfred sniffled. "What do _you _want, Arthur?" He said irritably. Alfred wasn't normally irritable, but the lack of sleep must have caught up with him.

Arthur looked around and rubbed the back of his neck before answering, "I have a letter for you."

Alfred nearly slammed the door in his face, he must have just wanted to be alone, but Arthur caught the door with his foot. Sure, Arthur didn't want to be there, but he was a stubborn man who made a promise to deliver a letter.

Arthur winced; Alfred really got his foot with the door. "It's from _."

Alfred'seyes widened, and he quickly looked around the house before inviting Arthur in. You followed Arthur through the door and Alfred shut it behind you. Alfred walked into the living room and sat on one of the couches facing the coffee table. Arthur took a seat on the opposite couch, and you stood at the end of the coffee table, not sure who to sit with.

Without another word, Arthur took out the letter and handed it to Alfred, which he read aloud.

"Dear Alfred," He read, "There are so many things I wish I had the courage to say to you. I wish I had the courage to tell you every day how much I love you. You mean more to me than anyone else in this world. I wish I had the courage to tell you that I've always loved you. Ever since you started coming to my elementary school. I fell in love with that adorable little blonde haired boy, and I'm so happy that he grew up to love me back. I never want to leave your side. I want to be next you forever."

Alfred looked like he was about to cry again, but he continued reading, his voice now slightly faltering. "I love you Alfred, and I want to tell you that every day for the rest of my life. I can only hope that you love me the way I love you. Alfred, promise me you'll marry me when we get out of school. There's nobody else I'd rather spend my life with. With greatest wishes and deep desires, _." Alfred paused and scrunched his eyebrows, "P.S. I'm sorry that you'll probably never read this. I'll write them every day, letters that I don't intend to give to you. Because I'm afraid of what will happen, when you catch a glimpse, of things hidden deep within my heart."

Alfred wiped the tears from his eyes when he noticed the date on the letter.

He looked up at Arthur, "This was written four months ago. Wait. . . How did you even get this?"

Arthur looked surprised, but then calmed himself and answered, "_'s parents. They found a chest with all these letters in them. I went over to give them my condolences, and they wanted me to keep the letters, to give to you." Arthur was lying through his teeth, but it's not as if Alfred would believe him otherwise.

Alfred didn't seem to want to argue. Receiving a letter from you was like stepping on an emotional roller coaster. He didn't know if he should be happy or sad, and he was trying hard to hold back the tears.

Alfred glanced down at the letter before looking at Arthur again, "Where are the rest of them?"

"Come again?" Arthur looked confused.

"Where are the rest of them?" Alfred repeated more forcefully, "This letter was written four months ago. _ said she'd write every day. Where are the rest of the letters?"

You had never seen Alfred this serious about anything. He was always the happy, go-lucky idiot that could never be serious about anything. This unseen side of Alfred was so different. He must have really loved you. You let fall a few tears before wiping them away.

Arthur answered, "At my place. You get one letter every week. That's what _'s parents told me to do."

Alfred was angry now; he nearly yelled at Arthur, "Why would they do that?"

This side of Alfred at least made a little sense. Alfred would always pout about things that he wanted or things that didn't go his way. You always thought it was adorable, but this. Even this was different.

Arthur remained calm and answered again, "They were worried about you. They know how much you love _," Those words seemed especially difficult for Arthur to get out, "and were afraid you'd do something stupid, like commit suicide if you didn't have something to look forward to."

"THAT'S STUPID!" Alfred stood up and slammed his fist on the coffee table, tears falling from his eyes.

That was enough; it was all you could handle. It hurt you so much to see what pain you had caused Alfred. You couldn't take it anymore.

_Alfred. Alfred, I'm so sorry. _You cried into your hands; you couldn't hold back your tears any longer.

"And what about you, Arthur?" Alfred asked. You looked up from your hands and stared at Alfred.

Arthur looked more confused than ever now, "What?"

"I bet you just kept those letters for yourself" Alfred had lost it and turned hostile now. This must have been tearing him to pieces.

"What the bloody hell are you even talking about Alfred?" Arthur still didn't understand.

"You liked her. I know you did. You were always jealous of me, so you just kept the letters."

_Oh my God. What did Alfred just say? _Your eyes widened in shock. _Could Arthur have been lying to me at the mall? What if . . . _

Arthur's face flushed and he turned his head to the side before retorting, "You stupid git! What do you know? She's your girlfriend! Why the bloody hell would I keep letters addressed to you anyway?"

_So does that mean he doesn't like me? _You were so confused, nothing seemed to fit together.

At his words, Alfred just stopped. He unclenched his fists and looked down at his feet. "I don't know. . . I'm sorry, dude. All this has just been really hard on my, y'know?"

"I understand." Arthur looked around the room then glanced at the door. "I'll just let myself out."

You kissed Alfred on the cheek and hugged his waist, "See you later, Alfred."

You half expected him to hug you back and say, "See ya later, babe" like he normally did. This time, of course, he didn't. He couldn't see you, but you knew he had somehow felt your touch because he lifted his hand up to his cheek and shivered.

"That was weird." You heard him whisper.

You and Arthur left Alfred's house just as you had come—in total silence. Leaving the house, you were silent. Walking home, you were silent. Everything was silent, but it wasn't a warm or awkward silence. It was a cold, dead, horrifying silence eating away at the two of you, until Arthur broke it, with more of a rant than a conversation.

"Why did you even start going out with that wan—Alfred?" Arthur tried to be a gentleman and sound polite, but it just wasn't working this time. He was still upset with Alfred; Alfred could sure get on his nerves.

You closed your eyes and sighed. "He saved me. He was my hero when I needed one most."

Arthur looked confused so you elaborated, "It happened during freshman year of high school. I just got into one of many huge fights with my parents, and so I just ran out of the house in the middle of a huge thunderstorm. I was so fed up with life, and I just kept running. When I finally realized where I was, I was sitting in the middle of the school football field, halfway across town; the rain pouring down on my head.

"I was so angry and upset; I didn't even care what happened to me." You paused to draw in a breath and stared at your shoes. "and I don't know how he did it, but Alfred found me out in the rain. He was my crush since elementary school. So . . . so when he told me he loved me, and that he wanted to be my boyfriend, I couldn't say no. I thought it might have been a blessing from the angels. That day, he made me realize that my life was worth living, and that I _could_ be happy. He did that just by being himself, and we just dated ever since then." You started blushing; you thought it was a really embarrassing story.

Arthur looked like he was being internally tortured when you looked back at him. As soon as he noticed you staring at him, he turned his head and faked a smile, "I see."

You and Arthur reached his apartment just as rain began pouring. You followed Arthur, in silence, up the steps and outside the door of apartment 221b. All of this was really getting to you now, and you wanted to cry. You wanted to take things one at a time, but it seemed as if everything around you just attacked at once.

Arthur suddenly stopped walking and turned to you, "Did he ever hurt you?"

You looked up at him, a look of confusion on your face, "What?" You murmured.

"Did Alfred ever hurt you in any way—emotionally or physically—ever?" Arthur clarified.

"N-no. He would nev—" The end of your sentence got away from you, "Why?"

"Because he's hurting you right now, and I can't stand to see you like this." Arthur stared into your (e/c) eyes and placed his hands on your shoulders as he spoke. "Please always try to be as happy as you can possibly be, even if that means leaving people behind." He gave you a quick but tight hug.

Was—was he telling you to leave Alfred?

_No. No. He couldn't be. Could he? _Your mind spun as you tried to answer that for yourself, until you noticed Arthur staring at your lips.

You looked back up at him, and he turned quickly to open the locked door, blushing madly.

"I just want what's best for you is all." He mumbled.

He opened the door and let you in first, then entered himself and closed the door to apartment 221b. The two of you spent the rest of the night in separate rooms, not feeling very chatty over the day's events.

_Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Letters from a Britannia Angel**

England x Reader x America part 6

You were lying in bed, staring up at Arthur's ceiling. You stared at it for so long that you nearly had the pattern memorized. After the events of yesterday, you weren't very motivated to get out of bed today. Alfred was probably tearing himself apart, and it was all because of you. You couldn't stand knowing that you had caused Alfred pain, and so you just resigned yourself to stay in this bed and never get out of it again.

You didn't know if it was possible for a ghost to have depression, but if it was, this was certainly the beginning. Lack of interest, fatigue, feelings of sadness and irritability; those symptoms certainly described how you were feeling as of this moment. The best word to describe how you felt, you decided, was numb. You didn't care what happened to you anymore, you didn't care about the consequences; all you wanted to do was lie in bed and stare at the white ceiling for the rest of eternity, which you definitely had.

You resolved to remain staring at the ceiling, when suddenly, Arthur burst into his room and threw open the curtains. He turned swiftly around to face you. Bright light attacked your eyes, and your arms flew up to cover them as your body curled into a ball.

"Alright, that's it. Get up!" Arthur threw the covers off of you and yanked you out of bed.

"Why?" You stared at the ground, disgusted, as you replied unenthusiastically.

"Because, you need to get out of bed; stop thinking about that wanker Alfred and what happened yesterday. He'll be fine; I'm sure." Arthur had managed to slip in an insult to Alfred without you noticing, and he smiled playfully. "We're going to the harbor today."

"What? Why?" Arthur had managed to grab your interest.

"There's a festival." Arthur smiled brightly at you.

"A festival? What kind of festival?"

Arthur eyes grew wider and he blushed slightly, "It's . . . a surprise."

"O-okay; fine then. I'll get ready and we'll go." You decided just to brush aside Arthur's obvious embarrassment.

Arthur left your room, smiling once again, so you could get dressed. You headed to the bathroom to shower, and when you passed the mirror you were surprised to see your reflection. Every day you seemed to learn something new about being a ghost. The pieces all seemed to come together somehow, and everything made a whole lot more sense than it did that day you went to meet Alfred at the park.

To your surprise, ghosthood worked similarly to actually being alive. Ghosts could see themselves and everyone else; however, only a select few living people could see spirits. You were also able to interact with the objects in the real world, but they turned invisible to the living at your touch. You still got hungry, but you could only eat regular food with the help of Arthur's spirit water. According to Arthur, there was also food for the spirits, but he felt, and you agreed, you would be more comfortable eating human food.

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was un-brushed and your pajamas a bit messy, but you looked put-together for the most part. Your reflection gave you a new hope that maybe you had a chance to survive your situation.

_Maybe things aren't as bad as they seem. I mean, Alfred still loves me, and Arthur's always here for me. He really does look out for me; he's so kind and gentle and handsome and . . . OH MY GOSH! What am I thinking?! I shouldn't be thinking about Arthur like that at all!  
_

Your heart raced and your breath quickened as you tried to figure out why you would even think something like that. Heat rose to your cheeks and you were glad Arthur had left and gone to the living room to wait for you. When you calmed down, you convinced yourself that you only thought of Arthur as a friend and nothing more.

You went through the rest of your morning routine, and decided upon wearing the turquoise, three quarter sleeve blouse and a pair of light wash jean shorts. You slipped on your new black sandals, and headed out to meet Arthur in the living room. Without a word, Arthur smiled and opened the door for you. He sure seemed excited about wherever he was taking you, and you were happy to go with him. It would be good to get out of the apartment and get your mind off of yesterday.

The walk with Arthur was quiet, as per usual it seemed. You began zoning out again because the conversation obviously wasn't going to keep you entertained. You even started hearing music play in your head, which you eventually identified as Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." You were going to continue on your train of thought, when you suddenly stopped.

_Wait. Why, of all things, would "Moonlight Sonata" be playing in my head?_ You snapped out of your trance when you realized where you and Arthur were.

You glanced around and a smile spread across your face. The two of you were standing outside of a small café close to the harbor. You knew it well enough to know that it always had a live musical performance.

This time, a young man was found sitting in front of a grand piano. His brown hair had a strange curl sticking apart from the rest of it. His violet eyes moved across the sheet music as his fingers swept rapidly across the piano keys, playing the third movement of "Moonlight Sonata." He was wearing a gray shirt with a slightly lighter pinstripe vest and pants. You judged him to be in his mid-twenties.

As the piece came to an end, the man stood up, turned around and bowed to everyone who had gathered around to listen. He flashed a genuine smile at the crowd as he sat back down and began another piece.

Arthur quickly turned his head to look at you. He looked taken aback, "_. Why are you crying?"

You hadn't even noticed. As your hand touched your face, your fingers felt wet. Tears were falling from your eyes, maybe because of how moved you were by the young man. The songs he was playing never stood out to you in any way before. They were just songs you had heard in your music classes, and maybe at the occasional band concert. So why did it make you feel like this?

_The way he plays them . . . . He seems so happy. But . . . but it's not just that. . . _

"I-I don't know." You replied to Arthur softly.

After uttering those words, you remembered. A wave of bitter nostalgia swept over you as you recalled your first date with Alfred. That man was playing the same music on that day as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ **Flash Back **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alfred, where are you taking me?" You giggled as the tall blonde dragged you down the sidewalk by your arm.

"It's a surprise." He smiled back at you.

You could only laugh at his excitement. You always thought Alfred was so cute when he was like this. He was always so excited about everything; like a kid at an amusement park, he was always so fascinated at everything he saw. He was so adorable, and you still couldn't believe he actually asked you out. You smiled at the memory. Alfred had certainly turned your day around.

You stood outside a small café near the harbor.

Alfred looked over at you and smiled, "Come on. Let's go eat."

When the two of you were seated in the café with your food, you sat there in silence for a few moments. This was when you noticed the piano player in the background. Seated at a grand piano, a man—who looked in his early twenties—was playing a song you couldn't recognize. You tried to place the song in your head, but you just couldn't remember where you heard it before.

Alfred spoke up, "It's Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata."

"How did you know that?" You had never known Alfred to be into classical music, so how did he know what this song was called?

"Oh, well, I'm just good at remembering things I guess. I had to play this in my piano class a year ago."

"I didn't know you played piano." You had known Alfred for so long, you were surprised that there were things you didn't know about him.

Alfred laughed, "Yeah, 'cause I don't. I always sucked at it. I don't even know how I managed pass that class; I didn't even like it."

You laughed along with Alfred, "So what do you like?"

"I like sports and things. I'm on the varsity football and baseball teams. My brother, Matthew, plays hockey and stuff. . ." Alfred seemed to be completely disinterested by this. You could tell just by his face he wasn't telling you the whole truth.

"But what do you _really_ like? I mean. . . What do you want to do with the rest of your life?"

Alfred's face seemed to light up, "I'm really into archeology. I want to be an archeologist and uncover mysteries and go on adventures!"

You could only laugh, "You're like a regular Indiana Jones."

"I hope so. God, that'd be so sweet. He's my hero. I'd love to be like him."

You rolled your eyes at Alfred, "You and your heroes."

He looked at you with a smile on his face, "Hey. Don't dis my Superman."

The two of you laughed at this and continued eating until you became serious.

"Alright, Alfred, I won't make fun of your heroes; as long as you promise me something."

Alfred looked up with his burger still in his mouth, "What?" He tried to say.

"Promise me that when you become an adventurer like Indiana Jones, you'll take me with you."

Alfred swallowed a bite of his burger and looked at you seriously, "_, there's no one I'd rather take."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Come on Arthur, let's go." You felt that if you stayed there any longer, you would burst into tears.

Arthur continued leading you toward the harbor as you tried to ignore the memory of your first date with Alfred. Even so, it nagged at the back of your mind. You were so focused; you didn't even notice the people in pirate costumes passing you. You didn't start to notice until you made it to the docks and saw a huge pirate ship in the water.

You were utterly amazed, "Arthur, what is this?"

"The annual pirate festival" He replied, gesturing around.

You looked all around yourself. All around you, there were banners, people dressed as pirates, ships docked in the harbor and pirate themed games and foods. You rotated around in amazement. The entire boardwalk seemed to be decorated like they would have been in the 1600s. You felt like you were transported back in time to the Golden Age of Piracy. All around you, shops were decorated. You noticed a saloon, tattoo parlor, and other shops. If you couldn't see the modern buildings off in the distance, you could have sworn Arthur had used his magic to take you back in time.

"Arthur . . . this is amazing. Look at this! It's like we're in the 1600s." Your jaw nearly touched the floor as you stared at Arthur in complete disbelief.

"I was walking around a few months ago and I saw a flyer in the park for this. I never imagined they would go all out like this though." Arthur looked just as amazed as you did.

"Oh, my God," You still couldn't believe where you were standing. You were never really into pirates, but this, it was just so cool.

As Arthur tugged at your arm, you snapped your focus away from the buildings. "Look, there's a tailor. I bet that's where these people got their costumes. Why don't we join in on the fun?"

For a moment, all you could do was stare at Arthur in shock. You couldn't believe Arthur wanted to dress in costume. It just didn't seem like him.

_Costumes? . . . Wait. You know what? This is a festival. It'll be fun to dress up. _

You smiled at Arthur, "Yeah, let's go get in costume."

You and Arthur walked side by side into the building with the "Tailor" sign swinging above it. . As Arthur had suspected, the shop was filled with rows of costume racks; costumes hung on every rack. There were at least five rows of coats, corsets, shirts, pants, and skirts. The walls were lined with shelves of hats and boots, and in the back were what looked like locker rooms.

You could only stand there giggling. These people, they were so into their pirates, and they made one of the greatest festivals you had ever seen.

You and Arthur walked over to a man leaning in a chair with his feet crossed on top of the counter. The man's hair was snow white and his eyes . . . ruby red. The man wore a navy blue coat with red and gold edges and a navy blue hat with a huge feather sticking in it. A tiny yellow bird was perched on his shoulder and ruby red studs pierced his ears.

"Bloody hell," Arthur looked around at the costumes, "these costumes are intricate. How much are you charging for these?"

The man studied Arthur, and then he just burst into laughter, "Kesesesese. The costumes are all donated, we're not charging anything. Just have it back by the end of the day, alright?"

Arthur nodded and you both walked off into the costumes. You walked off into the women's costumes while Arthur shuffled through the men's clothing. After several minutes of searching, you pieced together an outfit and headed off to the women's locker room at the back of the store. The locker room was surprisingly empty.

After changing, you shoved your clothes into an empty locker, and looked at yourself in one of the full body mirrors. You stood tall in a strapless, long sleeve, pirate shirt with a black corset covered in maroon roses, black pants, and knee high brown boots. You tied a red bandana around your head and swaggered out of the dressing room. You looked like a pirate, and felt a new wave of confidence with your new clothes.

You looked around the room and found Arthur deciding upon his hat.

As you walked he picked up a black pirate hat with gold lining and a huge white, feather plume on top. "How do I look, _?" A smirk was playing on his lips.

Arthur stood in front of you with a white frilled shirt and a red coat embroidered with gold edges and epaulets. He was also wearing black pants and black boots. A few golden chains dangled around his neck, accompanied by two golden hoops on his left ear and one on his right. You couldn't help yourself but to think that Arthur looked very handsome. This time, instead of freaking out, you just let yourself think about how attractive Arthur was. Today was all about fun, after all.

You smiled, "Should I just call you Captain Kirkland from now on?"

"Aye." Arthur's smirk was replaced by an embarrassed smile and a blush, when he looked over your pirate costume, "You look nice. Very . . . pirate-y."

You blushed in return, "Th-thanks. Uh. You look great too."

_Well this is awkward now. . . _ You thought.

Suddenly Arthur grabbed your hand and led you out of the tailor. The two of you walked around the boardwalk for a few hours, talking to other costume people, playing games, getting fake tattoos, touring the pirate ships, and just generally having fun. You would have thought you were being childish if it weren't for the fact that most people at the festival were teenagers, young adults, or middle aged men and women. At sunset, you and Arthur stumbled upon a boat rental place. Arthur suggested you both rent a boat and spend an hour or two sailing around in the harbor.

After renting the boat, Arthur rowed the two of you out into the middle of the harbor. You sat in silence for a few minutes, just watching the sunset.

Arthur soon spoke up, "So, how are you handling all this?"

You knew what he meant, but didn't feel like talking about it, so you just quickly answered, "The festival? Well, at first I was really surprised. But now I think this is the best festival I've ever been to. The costumes are cool, and the ships interesting."

Arthur sighed and tried again, "No. . . I was talking about the whole ghost situation."

"Oh. Of course." So you _were_ going to have to talk about it.

"I can't imagine it's not hard on you. You must have been so scared that first day, and then Alfred had to . . . react the way he did." Arthur sighed again; he looked near tears, and you didn't understand why. "I just—is there anything else that I can do for you? Anything at all?"

You were shocked and somewhat confused. You knew Arthur was a gentleman, but you didn't expect him to care so much for you. And you didn't understand why he seemed so upset.

"I'm. . . I'm fine now actually. Earlier today, I was really upset. But just spending the day with you has made me really happy." You paused, looked up into the sky, and continued rambling, "I suppose I should have known that Alfred would react that way. Here I am, his girlfriend for years; I should know him better than anyone, but I never expected he would get so passionate about anything, especially me."

"I don't blame him." You looked at Arthur surprised as he continued, "That git, Alfred, ticks me off so much and so often. We don't often see eye to eye. In fact, I think I only agree with one of his decisions."

"What decision?" By now, you were dying to know.

"You."

"Wh-what?" Heat quickly rose to your cheeks and your face was soon painted with all kinds of reds.

Arthur looked down in attempt to hide his blush. He breathed in and out several time, eventually deciding it was now or never; he'd said too much to back out. When he recovered he looked back at you and continued, "_, you are the strongest, most beautiful woman I have ever met, and I am very glad that we did meet. And I know that there isn't much of a chance for me, but even so—"

"A-Arthur. I—I don't. . ." The words didn't want to come out of your mouth, and you found it difficult to say anything at all.

Luckily, you were saved by the first of fireworks shooting up into the sky. You heard a huge explosion and breathed a sigh of relief. You would have at least a few minutes to think things over. Lights of all colors exploded in the sky, in many shapes and sizes. Each explosion was just as loud as the last, and the show continued for a good half an hour until the finale. After the last of the fireworks, neither you nor Arthur continued the conversation. You just sat in your small, white rental boat silently, staring at the starlit sky.


	7. Chapter 7

**Letters from a Britannia Angel **

England x Reader x America part 7

You sat, curled up, on the covers of Arthur's bed, resting your head on your knees. The room was still dark. You couldn't sleep; your head was too full with thoughts of Arthur. You would have never guessed . . .

_He . . . he just confessed. He was going to tell me he loved me on that boat. _

Arthur hadn't said much at all after the fireworks finished. He rowed the boat back to shore in silence. You returned your costumes in silence. And you took the walk back to Arthur's place in complete and utter silence. When you entered the apartment, Arthur walked you to his room, mumbled "good night" and left to sleep on the couch. Arthur was normally quiet, but never this quiet, and it bothered you a bit.

_He's probably just embarrassed. He _did_ almost tell me he loved me. _

You had no idea what your response would be, though. Before you got to know Arthur well, answering would have been simple. You would have just told Arthur you didn't feel the same way; that you were head over heels in love with Alfred. But now, you weren't so sure. You loved Alfred. You knew that. That fact would never change. You didn't know how you felt about Arthur, though. You couldn't control your emotions as they raced through your body.

You sighed and looked at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand next to you. The numbers flashed on the screen; it was two thirty in the morning.

_I have to work this out . . . I have to decide how I feel. I can't keep avoiding the subject, and I'm going to have to speak to Arthur again eventually. _

So you sat there, on top of Arthur's bed, thinking. You didn't understand your emotions. With every ounce of your being, you felt like you were betraying Alfred. Arthur made your heart race and your breath quicken, and you couldn't stop yourself from caring about him. You wanted to love him, but you wanted to love Alfred as well. You could never bring yourself to hurt Alfred. Alfred had always been there for you. He knew you better than anyone. You had been through so much together, and you didn't want to throw that out the window. How could you do that? You couldn't . . . no. . . You _wouldn't _hurt Alfred. Not now, and not ever.

Just as you were about to make up your mind, you heard a knocking on the door, accompanied by a soft voice, "_? Are you awake?"

Your head spun to the clock; it was seven o'clock already. You didn't get any sleep at all, and, to your surprise, you didn't feel tired at all. Your attention turned back to the sound of Arthur's knocking. You knew you had to answer. You couldn't avoid Arthur any longer. Drawing in a breath for confidence, you crossed the room and placed a hand on the doorknob.

When the door creaked open, you saw that Arthur was standing in almost all black. He was wearing a dark blazer, dress pants, black loafers, and a gray dress shirt. For all the time that you lived with Arthur, you knew him to be a nice dresser, but you'd never seen him this dressed up before.

"Hey, Arthur. What's up?" You lazily rubbed your eyes, trying to look as if you had just woken up.

Arthur looked down at you, surprised; as if he didn't expect you to answer the door at all. "I'm—um—going out by myself today." He tugged at his collar, and his eyes flicked between you and the rest of the hallway, "Flying Mint Bunny should be around my flat somewhere, so I'm sure you could play with her if you want. And you're welcome to read any of my books, on the shelves around here." Arthur shifted his weight back and forth as he continued to list of things for you to do today.

"Um . . . alright. Where are you going?"

"Just . . . out."

"Oh. Okay, have a good time I guess." Arthur obviously didn't want to answer your question, so you decided to let it go.

Arthur smiled weakly and nodded, "Thanks. I'll see you later."

Arthur left the apartment swiftly, the door closing with a soft thud. He was really acting unusual today. It seemed like he was hiding something from you, and you wanted to know what.

_Why don't I just follow him? I have to know what's been bugging him lately. _

You put together an outfit and left the apartment just as quickly as Arthur, hoping to catch sight of him nearby. When you exited the apartment complex on Baker Street, you saw Arthur leaving a flower shop down the street, carrying a bouquet of daisies in his hands. He held them close to his chest and you could tell that those flowers meant something special to him. Arthur then turned and began walking towards you, looking down at the bouquet he clutched between his hands. You quickly dove into the large, green bushes surrounding the building. Arthur walked right past you.

_Good. _You breathed a sigh of relief._ He didn't notice me. But where could he be going?_

After trailing Arthur for a few more blocks, it became clear to you what his destination was. He was headed towards the old cemetery on the outskirts of town. You watched Arthur from behind a huge oak tree as he paused in front of the golden gates of the cemetery. He closed his eyes and inhaled a breath. As he walked through the gates, he slowly let the breath out with each step.

Arthur walked through the graves until stopping in front of a huge, intricately engraved headstone. You trailed him through the graveyard, and sat down behind some tombstones. You sat far enough away so Arthur couldn't sense your presence, but close enough to hear him easily. After a good five minutes, Arthur finally said something.

He sniffled and his voice caught in his throat as he stumbled over the words, "H-hello, mum."

_Oh no . . . poor Arthur. Not his mother. _

Tears were about to stream down your face. The pieces began clicking into place. Poor, poor Arthur. This must have been why he was acting strange. Arthur's words from the night before rang through your head.

"_I can't imagine it wasn't hard on you. You must have been so scared that first day . . . Is there anything else I can do for you?" _

So that's why. That's why he looked like he was about to cry. He lost his mother, and he couldn't do anything for her. He wanted to help her, but he couldn't. What could have happened to her?

Arthur spoke again, "I-I know I haven't visited you in a while," He placed the flowers on the grave marked "Maria Kirkland" and sat down, "but I'm here again. I brought daisies. I remembered they were your favorite. Dad gave them to you every year on your anniversary."

You couldn't believe it. Arthur, he must still be hurting. You had always just assumed that both of his parents were still alive. He'd always made it seem that way with the way he talked about them.

"I miss you, mum. I wish you were still here." Arthur closed his eyes, new tears rolling down his cheeks.

You couldn't hold in your tears anymore. You never cried this much or this often when you were alive, but after your death, your life was turned upside down. Everything that happened, and so much of what Arthur said, touched your heart. Arthur was such a different person; he had such a different point of view from the rest of the world, and you loved the way he thought. Your heart ached thinking that he had to carry all this pain alone on his shoulders.

Arthur paused for a long while before continuing to speak, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. This is my fault. If it weren't for me . . . I should have known better."

What could Arthur have meant? He couldn't have possibly been the cause of his mother's death. You were sure of it.

"If I only didn't have that fight with Dad, you would still be alive. I knew your heart couldn't handle something that traumatic. In the back of my mind, I knew." Arthur covered his eyes and hung his head. "Oh, all this is my fault."

So his mother had a weak heart. That's how she died. You closed your eyes.

_It's not Arthur's fault. He shouldn't blame himself. _

You wanted to run up to Arthur, put an arm around his shoulder, and tell him it was all right. But you couldn't bring yourself to move from your hiding place. Something just told you to stay hidden.

Arthur kept talking, "And I haven't visited you nearly enough. In fact, I think I'm starting to forget who you are. You've been gone for a while now, almost two years."

_Two years. She must have died shortly after Arthur's family moved here. _

"I met a girl though; I think she's the best thing to ever happen to me." Arthur's sudden topic change shocked you, "Sometimes it scares me; I think she's part of the reason I'm forgetting you. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. When she's around, the world lights up around me . . . and suddenly, nothing else matters."

Arthur talked to his mother's grave for hours. Near the end of Arthur's talk, you realized you had to make it back to the apartment before Arthur. That is, if you didn't want him to know you'd followed him. You quietly stood up and started back tracking through the cemetery. When you reached the entrance, Arthur stood up. Before he caught sight of you, you turned around and sprinted towards Arthur's apartment.

You reached the apartment complex in a matter of minutes. You took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor and raced down the hallway to the door marked 221b. You turned the doorknob and pushed the door. It didn't open. You tried again, but you still weren't able to open the door. It was locked. You slapped your forehead; how could you have locked yourself out?

Adrenaline rushed through your body. You _had _to get this door open. Arthur would be back soon, and if you weren't inside this apartment, he would know you'd gone out. If he asked, you didn't think you could convince him that you hadn't been following him.

Determined to get the door open, you shoved your whole body against it. It still didn't work. Then you had an idea; you place both your palms against the door, closed your eyes, and concentrated.

_C'mon. Phase through, phase through. _

You opened your eyes to see you were still standing in front of the door.

"Why did I even think that would work?!"

You were about to punch the door out of frustration when Arthur came up behind you.

"_? What are you doing out here?" Arthur laughed.

You whipped around and back against the door, "Uh . . . n-nothing Arthur. Why would you think I would be doing anything?"

You were rushing through your sentences and you knew Arthur caught on to the fact that you were hiding something.

"Please don't hide things from me . . . I know you followed me to my mother's grave." Arthur looked you in the eyes, and you felt like he was staring right into your soul.

Your eyes widened, "What? How . . . how could you—"

"Let's just say, the bushes in front of the building aren't a good hiding place." Arthur smiled.

You stared down at your feet, "So you knew from the beginning. . . Arthur, I'm sorry. I had no right to follow you. That was your business, not mine."

"Don't feel bad, _. You were just curious. I shouldn't have left in such a rush like I did."

"Thanks, Arthur."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Thank you."

"For what?" Arthur looked confused now.

"For being there for me; you always know just what to say."

Arthur smirked and began unlocking the door, "Not always, love. Just when I'm around you it seems."

You laughed. _There he goes again; always having the perfect lines._

Arthur opened the door and allowed you to enter. You walked through the doorway and Arthur followed.

"Hey, Arthur? Is there anything I can do for you?" You didn't want Arthur to suffer anymore; he'd been through a lot in his life. It didn't seem fair that he continue suffering.

Arthur was silent while he thought it over. After a few moments he responded, "Just keep being yourself. That's all I could ever ask of you."

You and Arthur spent the rest of the afternoon and evening watching movies while sitting on the couch. If anyone walked into the room, you could have sworn they would think you were crazy. Both you and Arthur were in your pajamas, wrapped in blankets, and seated beside each other on the couch. The random popcorn bowls scattered across the room certainly didn't help the situation. Not to mention the fort you had decided to build earlier. If anyone did happen to walk in, they'd also hear you and Arthur laughing like madmen at the comedies playing on the screen.

You would have never thought you would spend an afternoon like this with Arthur. It just didn't seem like something that would ever happen. You could imagine this happening with Alfred, sure. But with Arthur? Never. You would have laughed at anyone who suggested it.

When you and Arthur finally decided it was time for bed, you stayed up, once again. You thought about Arthur. You still weren't sure how you felt about him. You were drawn to him; you knew that much. You couldn't explain why, but you cared about him. Was it just sympathy? You couldn't tell. Arthur was there to comfort you, and he could make your heart skip beats.

Even so, there was Alfred; Alfred, your hero. The man you had loved since childhood. He saved you when you needed it most, and he cared so much for you. How could you ever betray him like this? How could you ever care for someone else? How could you ever give up a one in a million American hero?

You fell asleep late at night, still unsure of your feelings. Still unsure about anything, actually.


	8. Chapter 8

**Letters from a Britannia Angel **

England x Reader x America part 8

You whistled as you fried up the eggs for breakfast. Arthur had visited his mother's grave a few days ago and things finally seemed to be getting back to normal. You and Arthur started talking normally again, the awkward atmosphere no longer hanging above your heads. The two of you even started sharing breakfast every morning again.

Although you'd restored your friendship with Arthur, the past five days still went by slowly. You and Arthur had mainly stayed in his apartment, playing board games, watching TV and such. Aside from grocery shopping, and the occasional trip to a fast food restaurant, you hadn't gotten out much lately.

Arthur slogged into the kitchen. His dark blue, checkered pajama pants dragged on the ground. He wore one of his white V-neck t-shirts, and small chunks of his blonde hair were sticking out at odd angles.

"Good morning, Arthur." You smiled cheerfully, flipping the eggs on the pan.

He yawned and stretched his arms above his head before answering, "Good morning, _."

"The eggs are done." You scooped up two eggs and placed them on a plate in front of Arthur, which already had two strips of bacon and an English muffin on it.

Arthur smiled, "Thank you. These look delicious."

"It's no problem, Arthur."

You got your food, had Arthur pour some spirit water over it, and sat down next to him at the kitchen counter. You chewed your food quietly, while sneaking quick glances at Arthur, who sat next to you, equally silent.

Arthur laid his fork down and took a moment to stop chewing; then he looked over at you. "So, are we going to get ready and go?"

You looked over at Arthur, your mouth still full of food. Swallowing, you said, "Going where?"

Arthur looked confused. "To Alfred's. Remember? We promised him another letter every week."

Your eyes widened in understanding. "Oh. Right. Well. I better get working on that letter then."

Arthur cleared his throat loudly. "You didn't write one yet?"

"No." You laughed nervously, "A lot's happened over the past week. I guess I forgot."

"Well that's alright; we don't have to leave right away."

"Thanks, Arthur. I'll go start writing."

You put your dishes in the sink, and then walked back to the bedroom you had taken over from Arthur. You'd given up long ago about getting Arthur to let you sleep on the couch. That stubborn gentleman had his pride, and he wasn't about to let "a lady such as yourself" sleep on a couch. Stealing Arthur's bedroom was the least of your worries right now, though. Deep down, you were terrified.

_I'm forgetting about Alfred. Before, all I thought about was Alfred, and now, I'm forgetting to write him letters? What's going to happen . . . _

Being with Arthur forced you to forget. At his mother's grave, Arthur said he felt something similar with you.

"_When she's around, the world lights up around me . . . and suddenly, nothing else matters."_

What did this mean for you and Alfred; and for that matter, Arthur and his mother? Would it be good to let go? If you left them behind, would that make you any happier? You shook your head; you didn't want to think about leaving Alfred behind. You loved him too much.

You sat down at the desk in Arthur's room and began writing your letter to Alfred. Writing gave you more confidence. It assured you that you still loved Alfred, and that you would never stop loving him. With the world spinning rapidly around you, it was good to know that at least one thing in your life was stable.

After you finished writing the letter, you went about deciding upon your outfit. After trying on a couple combinations of the clothes you had, you finally chose a floral print tank top, a ruffled skirt, and your black sandals. You grabbed the envelope with your letter in it, and headed out to meet Arthur.

The two of you left the apartment and chatted on the way down to Alfred's apartment. Your conversation was mostly filled with awkward small talk. Arthur must have just wanted a change from your normally pleasant silence.

It didn't take long to walk to Alfred's house; it wasn't that far. Soon, Arthur was knocking on Alfred's door once again, letter in hand.

After a few knocks an old man with graying hair answered the door. You recognized him as Alfred's grandfather. Minutes passed and all he did was blindly stare ahead with a frown spread across his lips.

He raised a finger and pointed at Arthur as he called into the house, "Mattie? Are you on another one of your gay streaks? Is this why this boy is standing on our doorstep?"

Arthur could only stand there, slack-jawed, staring at the old man. Alfred soon appeared behind his grandfather in the doorway.

"Grandpa, Matthew isn't here. He left for college in Canada on a hockey scholarship, remember?" Alfred paused, as if to think over his grandfather's words, "and he's had a girlfriend since high school."

"Oh. Right. Right. Must have been your father then . . . That boy never had his head on quite right. . ." Alfred's grandpa walked off, mumbling to himself, and left you, Arthur, and Alfred standing at the doorstep.

Alfred stared in the direction his grandfather walked off in, a look of confusion plastered upon his face. After a few seconds, he shook his head and invited you into the house, grabbing Arthur and himself Coca-Colas.

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room before sitting down on the couch opposite Arthur. "I'm sorry about my grandpa." Alfred laughed, "I'm not even sure if he's getting old or if it's just his personality anymore."

Arthur smiled as opened his soda can, "It's no trouble; I know how old folks can be. I'm used to it, really."

Once again, you stood at the end of the coffee table between Arthur and Alfred and listened to their conversation. Alfred seemed to be returning to his old self. He seemed happier than before. It'd only been a week since you last saw him; maybe your letter had actually managed to cheer him up. The knees of his jeans were faded from being washed over and over. His golden dog tags dangled around his neck, and his glasses reflected the light from the open windows. He was also wearing one of his favorite shirts that said, "This Is Your Hero!" in huge red, white, and blue letters.

Alfred always loved to be called a hero; and, to you, he certainly was one. He didn't have super powers; he couldn't fly, shoot lightning bolts from his fist, lift objects with impossible strength, or anything. From anyone else's point of view, Alfred was an ordinary, everyday man, with nothing special about him. But to you, he meant the world. Or at least, he used to. Arthur had rushed into your life, and turned it upside down with a flick of his wrist. Now, you weren't sure what to think.

Arthur smoothed the envelope with his hands, and then passed it to Alfred, who tore into it like he was a child opening the biggest package under a Christmas tree.

A wide smile spread across Alfred's face as he read the letter, "Hey, Alfred! I just wanted to thank you for today." His eyes narrowed as he continued reading out loud, "You always seem to know how to cheer me up. Just being around you, is enough to make any anger I have—because of fights with my parents—just fade away. All you've ever done, and all you've ever needed to do, is smile. Somehow that's enough; that small magic act you perform every day. You are the sun shining through the storm. You keep me put together. Without you, I'm sure I'd fall apart. Thanks, Alfred, for being my hero."

Alfred's smile turned nostalgic, "To my Superman, love you forever, Lois."

He laughed silently, reclining back into the couch and placing his hands on the back of his head.

Arthur looked terribly confused, and somewhat hurt. Arthur leaned forward on the couch, leaning his elbows against his knees; his hands hung, folded between legs. His soft voice was only barely audible, "Bloody Hell, Alfred. What did you ever do . . . that she cares so much for you?"

Alfred looked at Arthur; he looked as if tears of joy were going to start falling from his eyes. With a voice just as soft, and just as quiet as Arthur's, he said, "I don't know. I don't. I have no idea what I ever did to deserve a girl like _."

You blushed. You'd written this letter so quickly, and you never expected this kind of response from Alfred . . . or Arthur, for that matter. They both talked like that letter was the single greatest, most moving piece of literature on this planet.

Alfred's face brightened as he recalled memories of you, "You know, sometimes I think she spent more time in this house than her own."

"What makes you say that?" Arthur's eyes widened in curiosity.

"She got in fights with her parents a lot." Alfred looked exasperated, "and I don't even know after how many she actually came here, looking for me."

"She fought with her parents? About what?" Arthur took another sip of his coke.

"Oh, different things; sometimes it would be about her grades—they were never good enough for her parents, even when she got A's. Other times, it was about her going out to see friends. Things like that." Alfred bit his lip, "I'm also pretty sure quite a few of them were about me."

Arthur stared blankly at Alfred and said, "Why? I mean . . . we don't get along most of the time; it's a miracle we're having a civil conversation now, in fact. But I see no reason why _'s parents wouldn't like you."

"That's another thing I don't know. She never talked about those arguments. She always told me what her parents said was 'too horrible' and she didn't want to talk about it."

You closed your eyes and pressed your lips together. Alfred was right. Many of the arguments with your parents _had_ been about Alfred; too many. They always said he was too energetic, that he didn't have a future, that he was far too nosy; they failed to see Alfred for who he was.

Alfred was always cheerful, and he had the ability to spread his happiness to other people. He has hope that everyone can be happy and get along with each other. His future is bright as well. He's always wanted to be an archeologist, but he dreamed of being a hero. When Alfred said hero, he never meant he needed super powers and an arch nemesis. No; Alfred wanted to be an everyday hero. He didn't need to make a difference in the world, as long has he could make all the difference in the life of one person. And as for being nosy; Alfred worried about his friends, a lot. All he's ever wanted was there safety, but in order to protect them, he needed to dig into things that weren't necessarily "his business." Your parents never got that. No matter how many times you told them, they never accepted Alfred for who he was.

You could never deal with that; and so, you rebelled. Alfred was always too precious to lose. He was a gemstone; one that you could never bring yourself to let go. Even if it meant not getting along with your parents, you had to fight for the person you treasured most.

"She always used to run here, no matter what the weather outside was. Sometimes she called beforehand, sometimes she surprised me." Alfred leaned forward as he spoke to Arthur, "I remember one time—probably the one she wrote about in her letter—there was a huge thunderstorm passing over. I can't ever remember the sky being so dark. And she ran eight blocks, just to see me."

Arthur seemed interested, "Oh, I remember that storm. My power was out for days after it. Anyways, what happened?"

Alfred smiled, "I answered the door, wondering who it could possibly be, and found her, completely drenched . . . and crying." Alfred studied the patterns on his fingertips, "So, I invited her in and we spent the night watching scary movie. I borrowed them from the library and had been waiting for someone to watch them with." He looked back up at Arthur and nearly broke into laughter, "I think we went through about eight bags of popcorn, and the living room was a mess. Matthew walked down at around two AM and told us to shut up and go to sleep before he knocked us both out and shipped us off to some unknown island."

You nearly burst into laughter at the memory. _Oh my God. I remember that! Matthew had a college interview in the morning. We ticked him off so bad. _

Arthur did something you never expected you'd see from him around Alfred; he actually laughed. "I can't believe Matthew _threatened_ you."

"I know! He's so quiet most of the time. I can barely get a few words out of him. Then, BAM! He stomps down the steps, screams at me, stomps back up and slams the door."

Alfred and Arthur continued speaking for a while. You sat down and looked around the room, only half listening. You hadn't thought to look around when you came here the week before. The room hadn't changed much from what you remembered, though. The couches still sat in the middle of the room, facing each other. A television stood behind you, full book shelves on either side. Across from the television, a row of open windows filled the wall.

The only thing you could see that was different about the room was the mantle above the fireplace. A photo of you, accompanied by a single rose and a candle, sat on top of the mantle.

_Oh, Alfred. _

Your thoughts were interrupted when your attention was caught once again by Alfred and Arthur's conversation.

"So, why did _'s parents even give you the letters in the first place? I don't get it. They barely know you."

Alfred's question shocked you for a moment. What if he was suspicious of your letters? Your heart started pounding in your chest. What if he didn't believe the story you and Arthur created—that you had started writing those letters four months before your "death"?

Arthur calmly answered, "Just as situation would have it, it seems. As I said before, I simply went over to offer my condolences—I thought it was only right since she did go to our school—and they asked me if I knew you. I said that, yes, even though we weren't close, I knew you. Then they asked if I would give you these, one by one, every week."

Alfred nodded, he seemed to believe Arthur's flawless lie. To you, it was obvious he had rehearsed it. Considering what a horrible liar he'd been at the store when being asked why he was browsing the women's clothing section, you assumed he practiced this lie several times in order to pull it off.

You breathed a sigh of relief. _Good. I can still give him my letters. Alfred will still accept them. _

After a few more moments of chatting, Alfred and Arthur said goodbye. You left with Arthur, after waving an invisible goodbye to Alfred. The two of you walked along the sidewalk for a while before you noticed you weren't heading in the direction of the apartment.

You tugged on Arthur's sleeve, "Hey, Arthur, we aren't going the right way."

Arthur turned to you and smiled, "Well if we were going to the apartment, you'd be correct. But I thought you'd like some fresh air after being stuffed up in my flat for the past few days. So, would you like to accompany me for a walk in the park?" Arthur extended his hand towards you.

You began in your pseudo-British accent once again, "Why yes, my good sir, I would love to spend the rest of the afternoon with you in the park."

You locked arms with Arthur as you walked down the sidewalk, a bright smile playing on your lips.


End file.
